


Pauper

by yeaka



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies), Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Alternate Universe, Ficlet, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-30
Updated: 2019-11-30
Packaged: 2021-02-24 16:42:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21621157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: A hot alien walks into a bar.
Relationships: James T. Kirk/Spock
Comments: 8
Kudos: 195





	Pauper

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own Star Trek or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

It’s a relatively slow day for the bar—nothing but the usual patrons taking up tables and drunkenly slurring out the same old stories Jim’s overheard a thousand times. He sits at the counter, occasionally trading stories with the barkeep—Bones is old and grouchy but probably Jim’s best friend on the planet. He’s gruff, but he’s got ‘a heart of gold’, as Jim’s mother used to say. Jim doesn’t spend a whole lot of time at home anymore. The bar’s generally more interesting, though even that’s been failing him of late. 

He hears the doors open behind him and turns to look out of habit, only harboring a small bit of hope for something _more_. His lips immediately pick up at the sides when he sees what’s coming in. The tall, slender figure that strolls so easily through the open doors is arrestingly _different_ from everything Jim’s used to. His skin is pale, his body all familiar proportions, his handsome face composed of all the same things that Jim has—one mouth, one nose, two eyes, two ears—except those ears curve up into little spikes that immediately draw Jim’s attention. He’s abruptly sure that this is an _alien_. The man bears the familiar blue tunic of a Starfleet officer, which pass through Jim’s world every now and again in drips and drabs. This man looks far more _serious_ than they usually do, which is saying something—his bow lips are set in a frown.

He comes straight to the counter, close enough that Jim can see the fluorescent lights create a halo in his neatly trimmed black hair. He opens his mouth, perhaps to get Bones’ attention, but Bones already sees him and meanders over, barking, “We don’t take Federation credits here.”

The alien’s frown tightens. Clearly, he hadn’t expected that. Before he can protest, Jim fills in, “Put it on my tab.”

Bones gives him that _look_ that says _not again_ , but Jim just grins and waits for Bones to cave. Bones rolls his eyes and asks, “What’d you want, pointy?”

The Starfleet officer looks wholly unamused by the nickname. He glances sideways at Jim, and pauses, seeming to consider the offer. Jim makes an obvious sweep of the man’s trim body, eyeing him up from his long shoes to the smooth jut of his hips to the tips of his exotic ears. Jim’s smile is plenty warm and inviting—he likes what he sees. 

After a moment, the alien slowly answers, “Water.”

Bones snorts and sarcastically tells Jim, “This one’s a keeper.” Jim just grins. He doesn’t need alcohol to get his partners in the mood. Bones disappears into the back and remerges with a mug of clear water that the alien doesn’t touch. 

Instead, he climbs onto the nearest stool. Jim extends his hand and offers, “I’m Jim.” He leaves out the rest, because the rest is unimportant. When they inevitably retire to the washrooms, he wants to hear the alien scream the name he goes by, not the proper one his mother gave him. _James_ just wouldn’t be as sexy. 

The alien eyes his hand for a conspicuously long moment before taking it. Jim wraps his fingers around it, crushing their palms together, and he instantly feels a sudden rush of endorphins. He sees the officer’s eyes dilating slightly and knows the feeling’s mutual. It’s an incredible start. Jim can’t help but wonder if it’s some trait inherent to the other’s species, or if the two of them just have chemistry that electric. 

The alien answers in a smooth, stoic voice, “I am Commander Spock of the USS Enterprise.”

“Spock,” Jim repeats, shortening it to the important part. “Nice name.” He withdraws his hand, even though he doesn’t want to, because it’s only polite. He knows he’ll get his hands on Spock again soon enough. He takes a sip of his drink before he ventures, “So. What’s a good looking Starfleet officer like you doing on Tiberius Prime?”

Spock ignores the complement, which is fine—Jim doesn’t mind someone playing hard to get. He’s confident he’ll get Spock anyway. There’s something about Spock that Jim finds incredibly endearing, and imagines from Spock’s heavy gaze that the surprise attraction’s mutual. Spock explains, “Your government has proven somewhat evasive. From what I understand, your mysterious crown prince is the one to speak with. I am attempting to gather information regarding him. I was directed to this bar.”

“Ahh,” Jim sighs. “The prince. Hard to pin down, but he’s pretty hot.” He thinks of adding: _but I’m hotter_ , except he gets the feeling Spock wouldn’t get it. Clearly, Spock isn’t the sort to be won over by cheesy pick up lines. Jim’s interested enough to play by Spock’s rules instead. He _could_ be helpful, if it’ll be worth his while. He checks, “Why do you want to see him?”

“The Federation would like to negotiate a trade treaty through this area of space.”

Jim snorts. “Boring. I don’t think that’d interest him. ...But will you be staying planet-side while you negotiate it?”

Spock answers, “Yes,” then tilts his head cutely to the side and asks, “Can you be of assistance?”

Jim sucks in a long breath, breathing Spock in, imagining what it would be like to lie with him—to melt that clearly hardened exterior down and press through to feel that spark again. If it was so palpable just form holding hands, he can only imagine what it would feel like to become _one_ with Spock, to press their entire beings tight together and tremble with each other’s pleasure. 

He decides, “Alright. I’ll take you to the prince.”

Spock lifts both of his accentuated brows. Jim downs the rest of his drink and slides it back across the bar, knowing Bones will charge his account and not miss the untouched water. Rising off his stool, Jim nods for Spock to follow. Spock joins him, and halfway across the floor, Jim snatches up Spock’s wrist. He can _feel_ as much as hear Spock’s breath hitching, but Spock doesn’t retract his hand. He allows Jim to tantalizing stroke that soft bit of skin just beneath his sleeve. 

Jim guides Spock right into the back, over to the restroom. Spock stops walking, clearly picking up that it’s anything but a palace, but Jim’s already rounding on him. 

Jim gives Spock a little push, thrilled that Spock allows himself to be pressed back against the door. His weight will keep it closed. Then Jim’s flattening into him and brining their lips together. He cups Spock’s cheek in his hand and gives Spock a chaste but firm kiss, making his intentions _very_ clear. Spock doesn’t participate, but he also doesn’t push Jim away.

Jim begrudgingly pulls back so he can murmur, “I’m the prince. James Kirk, at your service.” He doesn’t offer any proof, but for whatever reason, he’s sure that Spock would know if he were lying. 

Spock lifts two fingers to the back of Jim’s hand, lightly brushing across his knuckles. Jim shivers with the rush it gives him. Spock breathes, “Fascinating.”

Jim grins. He promises, “We can certainly discuss that treaty... but later. First, I have to properly welcome you to my world.”

Spock slowly nods, and Jim goes back in for seconds.


End file.
